Forlattena Prison, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

Annabella awoke long before the sun rose and laid quietly, listening to the soft breathing and airy snores of her companions. The living room was small, yet comfortable, warmed by the fire that had long since died out. It was incredibly dark. Annabella curled up on the corner of the makeshift couch, pulling a blanket around her shoulders as she listened to the others sleep. It was peaceful. Quiet. She breathed deeply.

The day before had been the most emotionally draining day of her life. She couldn't remember much of it, but she had cried a lot. A slight headache reminded her of that. She recalled curling up on her parent's bed, tucked in her mother's embrace, listening to her father's gentle words. They had thought she had died. For seven years, they had been convinced they had lost both her and Alexander. Annabella had rarely seen grown men cry, and seeing her father lose his icy countenance completely dissolved her own. She let herself go, let the pain and grief from years of suffering consume her. She let herself feel it all, let it take her down. Setting fire to the baggage burned it to ashes. The ashes would stay, but the burden was lifted.

It was behind her now, and all she could feel was relief. For the first time, her mind and heart were at ease.

It was easy to forget that they were in a prison and that a psychotic being was waiting to attack. Annabella wanted to forget, but Matthew was firm: they were surrounded by Athriian magic, and its source wasn't far away. It very well could have just been the fog, but it was hard for him to differentiate between that and anything else, he had admitted. Annabella found it creepy yet somewhat relieving that he could sense things the rest of them were blind to. It had been an hour before he had returned the day before, and something was different in him. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but he was more open, answering their questions honestly. He wasn't sure what he was, but he had magic — magic that countered the Veiled Lady's. He was meant to be with them, it was obvious, but Annabella wasn't sure how the situation would play out.

Stephanie was sure that Matthew wasn't the Immortal One's son, but if he wasn't, what was he?

Annabella stirred from her spot on the couch when Adrianna emerged from the bedroom and began to light the candles. Annabella silently took up the job, lighting the candles in the kitchen and living room as Adrianna began to make breakfast. Annabella accepted the tea Adrianna handed her and settled down at the table to sip it. Adrianna had done well in collecting herbs and roots to make into teas. It was hard making a living in the prison, Annabella had discovered, as all of the food was either gathered from the garden they had managed to scrounge together or rationed from the monthly shipment of canned goods from Zusia. Anthony had captured a couple of wild chickens a few years back and had built them a coop, so they had eggs from time to time. But the place was nothing like the paradise Annabella had first judged it to be. They worked hard for every morsel of food they ate.

Which was why, that morning, Adrianna helped her dress warmly and pack two small lunches. The temperature had gone below the freezing point during the night, and Annabella could feel the icy cold on the wooden walls. There was a chill in the air that was hard to shake even as Andre stoked the fire back to life.

Anthony was soon up, dressed for the cold and collecting two crossbows from the shed. Annabella met him at the front door and quietly accepted the weapon he handed her, avoiding his eyes. He reminded her too much of Alexander. Together, they set out to check Anthony's traps.

It was the first time brother and sister were alone together — the trip had been their father's idea, a chance for them to get to know each other. Although it had been seven years since Alexander's death, it was beginning to feel fresh with Anthony around. The mature and self-assured attitude he had was almost exactly like Alexander's, as was the way he talked using both hands. His small smile, though crooked from scarring, was achingly similar to Alexander's as well. The two brothers had never met, but Annabella knew without a doubt that they were related. It created an ache in her heart that grew with every passing moment. She hadn't realized how much she had missed Alexander until then. His death had nearly killed her, and now she had another brother to lose.

"Annabella? You okay?" Anthony's voice startled her. She had been staring off into the distance while he worked on removing a rabbit from one of his traps. He had just finished tying the kill to his belt and was now watching her with those hazel-green eyes. They looked so much like Alexander's.

She coughed, nodding. "Yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking."

They started walking again, heading for the next trap's destination. "What about?" he pried.

She didn't respond right away. Did she bring Alexander up with Anthony? "I was... thinking about Alexander," she answered slowly, watching carefully for his reaction.

He glanced up at her, soft and curious as he asked, "What was Alexander like? Mama and Papa won't talk about him."

Annabella exhaled, struggling to find the words to perfectly do Alexander justice. "He was brave. Really brave. And he was a great leader, too. I followed him around everywhere, and he protected me the best he could. Motch made that hard." She wouldn't tell him the grittier details of her and Alexander's life in Zusia. She hadn't ever told anyone. "Alexander was gentle, but he wasn't a pushover. There were a lot of injustices in the Trainee System, and he fought them with everything he had. He wasn't afraid to speak up. They had to punish him a lot." Something slowly dawned on her. "They tried hardening him, but they couldn't."

"Did he smile?"

Annabella paused at the question, her cold lips burning at the thought. "Yeah. Yeah, he did. He hated the rule against it and he made every effort to break it. I was so scared for him," she admitted, her voice dropping into a whisper. "He was bold and rash and brilliant and an idiot." Her memory had shifted to the dark times. Those last few weeks.

Anthony swung his crossbow a bit as they walked, waiting for her to continue. "He led the Trainee Rebellion," he said when she didn't. "One probably has to be all those things to do that."

"He was so mad," Annabella whispered, stopping when she saw Anthony's next trap. It was empty, but she didn't make a move to keep walking. Her mind was elsewhere. "After Dalton was executed, he just... snapped."

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"Dalton?"

"He was Alexander's best friend. They did nearly everything together. Dalton was almost wilder than Alexander — I guess maybe it was because Alexander had me to worry about and Dalton didn't. One day Dalton did something really stupid... I don't even remember what it was, but they killed him for it." Annabella hated reliving those days, but she knew Anthony deserved to know. He deserved to know his brother. "Alexander terrified me after that. He had this... darkness about him. They didn't harden him, they snapped him. Somehow, he scraped together a group of Trainees and one day they just... set fire to the city and attacked."

She remembered that day all too well. She had been nine years old, and Alexander only fourteen. Fourteen and leading a rebellion like a war-worn veteran. Half of the city had gone up in flames before the Trainees had been stopped. The entire system had collapsed into chaos, and it had taken months for Motch to restore proper order. Alexander had been captured, held prisoner in the dungeons for weeks before Motch had executed him on the portico for all to see.

Annabella had never forgotten the way he had looked at her before he died. She had been right in the front, given the full view of her brother's death, and he had seen her, forced to watch her sob and fight against the trainer holding her back. He had been so grief-stricken, as if only realizing then that he was leaving her behind to suffer at the claws of the beast. They had locked gazes, and he had taken a deep, careful breath — a familiar gesture he had always used to silently tell her to calm down. She had obeyed, watching him tearfully, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he had another trick up his sleeve.

He hadn't.

"Motch executed him for it," Anthony said softly. He stood over his empty trap, staring down at it for a long moment before looking up at her. "Were you able to talk to him? Before he died?"

Annabella shook her head, the lump in her throat thick and hard to swallow past. It had been seven years — why was this hurting so much? "No. But he... I saw him up there, and he saw me, and he... I think he was sorry."

"For what?"

"Leaving me," she whispered. "He wasn't sorry for rebelling. I think he was proud, in a way, to be able to die like that. In defiance, I mean. Everyone saw him, everyone knew him... he made an impact, and that was what he wanted. He knew he couldn't overthrow Motch. It was suicide. Just... no one else was doing it. I guess he thought he had to. His only regret was leaving me behind."

"Do you agree with him? That someone had to do it?"

"I don't know. It shouldn't have had to have been anyone, but he thought it had to be him. Us." The lump in her throat almost choked her as she swallowed. "He did tell me something. When he was up there and Motch was condemning him to death. He whispered something to me. I couldn't hear him, but I could read his lips. He said—" She faltered, her eyes burning with the tears that threatened to fall. "He told me he loved me. And he said something that just... has stuck with me for years and years."

"What was that?"

Annabella paused, picturing Alexander's face. She looked at Anthony, seeing Alexander. "'Your turn,'" she whispered.

Anthony smiled his scar-crooked smile. "I wish I could have known him. He sounds like the kind of person I wanna be. Brave, fearless, daring." He drifted off, looking wistful before catching the sorrow on her face. "What?"

"That makes your chances of death a lot higher." He was just a boy. Nothing more than a child. And yet, she realized, he was getting to be close to the age Alexander had been.

"What's life without death?" Anthony asked wisely. "We're all gonna die someday. I want my death to mean something. Alexander's death meant something. I don't think he was telling you to go get yourself killed, I think he was saying to make your death count." Anthony paused, thoughtful. "Was he smiling when he died?"

Annabella had never thought of that. "I don't know. I closed my eyes." She hadn't been able to watch. It had been too much to bear.

"Mama told me he was," Anthony said, his voice soft. "They saw it on the screens. I was too little to remember, but they said he smiled. One last act of defiance." He paused, and then said, "That's why I smile. To remember him. To be defiant. They can come and hurt me and kill me but I'll be defiant, like Alexander. I want my death to mean as much as his did."

Annabella hadn't ever known that Alexander had smiled. It prodded her conscience. All these years she had sworn off smiling because of his death. The very idea that he had been smiling as he died... it touched her in a way she couldn't describe. She suddenly felt guilty. She licked her lips, feeling them tremble a bit. "You're eleven. You shouldn't be so eager to die."

"Age means nothing. Alexander was fourteen."

"Yeah, but..." Annabella trailed off, her emotions bundling up inside of her like an anxious storm cloud. "I don't want to lose another brother."

Anthony stared at her for a long moment, and then stepped across the distance and wrapped her in a hug. She gathered him in her arms and closed her eyes, resting her chin on his head of curls. He was strong and firm, even at such a young age, and she felt secure in his embrace.

"I can't promise anything," Anthony said into her shoulder. "Death isn't really something we can avoid, but..." He stepped back, looking up at her. "I'll try to postpone it."

She studied his eyes, truly seeing him for the first time — not Alexander. "Isn't that what life is about? Postponing death?"

"No," he said firmly. "It's about doing everything you can to make sure your life means something to the people you leave behind. It's about loving, even if that leads to death." He paused, hesitant, and then gently touched her cheek. "It's okay to smile through the pain. It's okay to smile, period."

She took his hand in hers, surprised at the gentle gesture. His touch on her cheek had been cold, but loving. His words were warm, melting the last of the resistance she had. Slowly, she smiled at him. He returned it, his eyes alight with happiness. She wondered if hers looked the same.

"Annabella," Anthony said, "Alexander might be dead, but he lives on in you. I can see it. So can Motch, I think, and that's why he's so scared of you. He tried killing Alexander's passion and he couldn't. He'll try killing ours, too."

"He won't."

Anthony grinned. "Good. Keep smiling, it makes you pretty like Mama."

Annabella couldn't help but laugh as he pulled away and picked up his crossbow. "How are you so...?"

"Mature? Smart? Brilliant?"

"Sure."

He grinned at her again. "Being raised by Papa and Mama in this stupid prison and having way too much time to think."